Spell Of The Golden Oriole

Spell Of The Golden Oriole
© Surazeus
2024 06 23

One tiny atom in my fingernail 
is not one whole universe in itself, 
so I sit on the back deck of my house 
and watch the deer herd of our neighborhood 
eat leaves from the apple tree of my heart 
while the golden oriole hears me think. 

Every star that twinkles in the night sky 
has already burned out millennia ago, 
so I close my eyes in the evening glow 
and listen to the golden oriole 
explain the formula for love-winged flight 
as power equals force times speed of thought. 

All civilizations of humans thrive 
with ancient heartbeat of the river flow, 
so I row my boat for thousands of miles 
while the pair of golden orioles sing 
in the green willow on the lonely shore 
where Death watches me from her harbor door. 

Mountain peaks with ten thousand years of ice 
gleam within the window frame of my home, 
so I construct another river boat 
from cedar wood that scents the morning breeze 
while the golden oriole on thin branch 
of the apple tree sings my elegy. 

Wherever I roam on the signless road 
my heart is my home for pilgrims of truth, 
so I build new house on the river shore 
when men chase me from house my father built, 
for even the lithe golden oriole 
has built a nest as a home for herself. 

We become dust as shadow of the Earth 
when we descend to the dark underworld, 
so I mold new body from river mud 
and breathe in its nostrils the breath of life, 
then teach my child to sing in harmony 
with love song of the golden oriole. 

Every temple that honors some dead god 
was built on the field of a humble farm, 
so I play tunes on lyre of Mercury 
while sitting on streets in a thousand towns 
to translate religious theology 
from the spell of the golden oriole. 

Happy are they with empirical eyes 
who can recognize the causes of things, 
so I measure the time-spiraling curves 
that atoms plot in matrix of the mind 
when I watch the golden oriole fly 
as ghost that brings me wisdom of the light.